


Planted in Darkness

by joy_shines



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Altered States, Apples of Idunn, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Girls Underground, Magic, Prophetic Visions, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: I sing of Bragi/meeting fair I∂unnIn this darkest night/I tell of bright lightI sing of the fall/youth’s keeper to dark





	Planted in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeCarabas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/gifts).



_Thus spake Bragi, tale-weaver of the Aesir:_

> Hear, all who gather/cease work and attend
> 
> I sing of Bragi/meeting fair I∂unn
> 
> In this darkest night/I tell of bright light
> 
> I sing of the fall/youth’s keeper to dark
> 
> From greatest sorrow/how greater joy came

The dis I∂unn fell to the dark; the best of gardeners fell from her bright home, down Yggdrasil’s branches, riding O∂inn’s horse, to the house of darkness. Planted, like a seed, was fair I∂unn, planted, like one of her apples. How did this come to be, you ask me? I tell you: She stretched her grower’s skill beyond the bounds of light, beyond the confines of Alfheim, and thus it was. Some plants grow only in darkness, bloom only in night. Do you see now, or not?

The mother of orchards sat restless in the house of Night - no food she accepted; no sweet mead she drank. The darkness pressed in on her, crowding bright I∂unn; as a candle in the damp will burn but weakly, so did I∂unn diminish. Her hosts offered her hospitality; they called upon Hela herself to welcome the bright lady, but I∂unn shied and startled. Ivaldi’s daughter covered her face, deepening her darkness.

Wise Hela, who receives so many, was not dismayed by I∂unn’s fear, “Leave her to me,” she urged, “the eyes of the bright are blinded in Night’s house. Those used to the sun may have difficulty picking out the stars.” Loki’s daughter brought forth a wolfskin, warm and well-tanned, and she draped it around I∂unn’s shaking shoulders. Strong words she whispered to the alfar maid; strong sei∂r she wove on the weeping dis:

> Wolf-skin to warm you/bring life back to limbs
> 
> Wolf-strength to steady/Better to bear dark
> 
> Wolf-guile to guide you/Deep darkness in bright
> 
> Wolf-want to awaken/True hunger holds strong
> 
> Wolf-heart to hearken/Wise words and cold truths

I∂unn’s shaking stilled, Hela’s words wrapping her heart. Her hands fell from her face, weaving strange runes as Hela chanted on. Eyes wide and unseeing, the bright lady cast about Night’s hall. Feet stamping in time with the chant, she rose up from her seat as Fenrir’s sister wound up the charm, and her throat opened with a howl, savage and sharp. Ivaldi’s gentle daughter loosed a cry of wrath, a cry of pain, a cry of revelry. Her bonds of sorrow loosed, she raced through Night’s domain.

As a wolf, she crested hills and spanned forests; as a wolf, she snapped at small creatures and tasted blood. Fair I∂unn, whose delight was all in things well-grown from the earth, whose heart was fixed on weaving wondrous plants, tasted living flesh and crushed fatal wolfsbane in her strong jaws. Under the great ash’s roots I∂unn ranged, howling in darkness, as Hela followed placid in her wake, gathering bits of bone and fur, clipping from the plants the wolf-elf brushed.

In bright Asgard above, O∂inn was troubled. The All-Father saw darkness encroaching; felt age drawing on, and was troubled in mind. From I∂a’s bright field, O∂inn sent messengers to the Great Below, to call at Night’s house and inquire there of what passed in the worlds, to seek a way to stave off implacable Skuld. Heimdall, he sent, the far-seer and wide-watcher, and Loki, master of guile, to his daughter’s house. Bragi, too, he sent, to ask sweetly for news, and record it well for the All-Father’s ears - but ah, could even the All-Father know what was to come to me on this journey? Could even the one-eyed lord of the runes foretell what Bragi was to find?

The messengers descended from Asgard - with Heimdall’s guarding and Loki’s cleverness, they came safely to the House of Night, searching for the _volva_ , she whom O∂inn consulted long ago. Instead, they came upon Hela, wolf-bold I∂unn at her side. No longer did the elf-wolf howl; no longer did she range wildly, but only sat by Hela’s side, head laid against her thigh. A bone-white hand settled behind a wolf’s ear, idly scratching, and I∂unn calmed like a child at her mother’s knee, like a lover at the side of the beloved.

Heimdall’s eye saw; Loki’s cleverness perceived; Bragi’s inspiration illumined - all three messengers recognized that the wolf-woman was riding a strong working, in the grip of powerful words. Spoke Bragi the bold, “Hail to you, Hela Lokisdattar, hail and blessings on your house and realm! We have journeyed from Asgard seeking knowledge, chasing understanding. How may old age be forestalled? How may we bar the way to Skuld’s fell march? How may we thwart Time? We came seeking the _volva_ , O∂inn’s advisor of old, but our feet have brought us to you, and this strange, wondrous wolf-maid. Tell us, if you please, gracious Hela, can you answer our need?”

Hela laughed, and the wolf-maid stirred. “No, Bragi. I know all that passes among my people - the knowledge of the dead I have complete. Of age and infirmity, know I. Of illness and wounds, know I. Of the final healing that brings mortals to my realm, know I. Never has a mortal escaped my realm, save those O∂inn and Freya choose. No, I cannot answer you. Ask, though, my hound here: she knows the brightness of Alfheim, and the darkest reaches of Niflheim. She follows plants from seed to fruit, and sustains them past the point of withering. Her gardens flourish in the deepest winter, and her orchards bear fruit beyond the understanding of jotun and Aesir alike. Ask her, and see what she may say.”

Then Bragi bowed low, and implored of wolfen I∂unn, “Worthy wolf, can you see a way to fend off the ravages of time and age? Fierce maiden, how can we win victory over foreseen terrors? The gratitude of the Aesir, and your welcome among us, is assured, do you but look for these answers.” At Bragi’s words, the wolf began to shake. As he questioned her, hot tears gathered in her feral eyes. When he fell silent, she began a great keening. No howl of rage or joy was this, but a wail of grief, drawn long and taut as a harpstring. The messengers stared in wonder, gazed in awe upon I∂unn, waiting for words. Cried Loki, “What wailing is this? What wisdom to be found in cries? Grant us words, wolf-maid, and we will thank you.”

Sober Hela admonished, “Father, you ask no light questions. What knows a wolf of words? What use has a wild creature for battling Time? What shall a woman do in the face of terror unspeakable? You ask a sei∂-ridden creature to work spae for you, to dip into the wells of knowledge and see true, and ridicule her for success? Be wise yourself, father of death, and hearken to her pain. Know the fullness of what you have asked.” They sat, then, the messengers of Asgard and the ruler of the dead, as I∂unn’s cries wove a net of foreboding, until the plains of Nifleheim were strung with the echoes of her dread. At last, she fell silent, empty as a spent meadskin.

Fenrir’s sister knelt close, mouth to the wolf’s ear. Strong words she whispered, the charm woven, seeking to unwind. I∂unn writhed in the wolfskin, shaking and stubborn, burying her head in Hela’s chill breast. “Alas,” said she to the messengers, “my gift is to welcome, not dismiss - to loose bonds, not return them - to entice to darkness, not coax to light. I cannot bring her back. Only if Ivaldi’s daughter returns to herself can she give the answers you seek. Convince her, if you can.”

Bragi stepped forward, then knelt before the wolf-maid. Soft, he sang to her; strong were his words and charming his song:

> Well have you watched/worthy wolf, now return
> 
> What winds blow through you/leave them to the land
> 
> To the earth, maiden/let fall winds of wyrd
> 
> Wise wolf you have been/may clever maid come
> 
> To fame and acclaim/in Asgard, return

As a besom sweeps cobwebs, so the song swept clean the sei∂. Brave I∂unn raised her head, star-eyed and far-seeing. From the wolf-cloak, the greatest of gardeners emerged. “Who calls I∂unn, youngest of Ivaldi’s first get? Who wakes I∂unn, from dreams and from revels? Who denies I∂unn warm flesh and warm fur?” In that moment she turned; in that moment Bragi drowned in the wells of her eyes - no sweeter end is there than the depths of I∂unn’s eyes. “Fairest of women, it is Bragi who makes bold to call. It is I, Bragi, who heard your wolf-song. Tell me, valorous maid, of the pain you beheld. For pain shared is pain lessened, and I would lessen yours, if I might.”

The mother of wonders grew roses in her cheeks; her lips grew red as though with live blood - but boldly she spoke, wolf-hearted still: “Sweet words, dear stranger, well-formed and well-spoke. Great ills I have seen, and terror beyond ken - what will you give me for such a gift shared?” Cried Bragi, “Aught that I have, dear maid will I give - my heart to your wolf-jaws or my lands to your use.”

“It is well, tale-weaver, your heart I do claim. Your heart, and somewhat besides, to warm I∂unn from the chill of this place.” At this, quick Loki started, tearing his hair: “Shall I find you a bed? Your visions, garden-wolf, not this love-play!” I∂unn snarled, bearing sharp teeth, “Keep a civil tongue in your head, Laufeyson, lest it be your heart I crave. But I will tell of these terrors, the sooner to return to more pleasant things. It seemed I saw Asgard as an orchard, the Aesir and Asynjur as fruit trees, green and lush. But cruel winter swept the land, breaking limbs  and splitting trunks. Spring brought no respite, as pests swarmed the trees, boring into bark and gnawing on root. Summer saw vermin, stealing what small fruit could sprout - then winter returned early, and felled the trees, one by one. Destruction and rot, I saw. Want of care and help, I saw. From a felled orchard, I turned to a pack of wolves, wild and strong. They roamed the worlds, ever enough to eat, ever a warm back to share in sleep. But that same winter came, and no food could be found. Teeth loosened in sockets, ribs showed through fur. Little warmth was there to fight the winter’s strong winds. Their numbers dwindled, bodies left in snow, until the last wolf lay in a snow drift, to rise no more. All of this I saw, Helasvattir. Are you satisfied now, or what?”

The messengers’ faces grew milk-pale at I∂unn’s visions. Even Loki’s quick tongue stilled in dread, and Heimdall clutched his sword closer. Only Bragi found his voice, “Grim sights indeed, fell words you bring. Though my heart be as ice in terror, it is yours, I∂unn, for the service you have done, and for your own sake. But tell, have you no words of comfort? Is there no remedy for what you have foreseen? For lady, I dread withering and freezing all the more if it removes me from your embrace.”

Valorous I∂unn approached Bragi, laid her strong hand to his cheek, “There is no defeating the works of time, word-spinner, yet I will not let you fall easily to the winter of age. No, I have your heart, and I mean to keep it. Do you give me your lands, as you said? Will you give me charge of your assets, to do with as I see fit?”

Lithe Loki grumbled, but Bragi assented clear: “Yes, lady. My heart, my hearth, and my lands are in your keeping. Already, you grow your roses in my cheeks, and have sown the seeds of love in my chest.”

I∂unn clasped Bragi’s hand in hers, “It is well. I shall grow for you - and for all of Asgard - precious fruits, wondrous fruits to put off old age and defer the march of time. For now, I have seen death. Now, I have gazed into darkness. Now, I have warmed myself in wolfskin and feasted on fresh flesh. I have seen the roots of the World-Tree, and now, I have the kenning of Niflheim. And now - now - I will cultivate, I shall magic, I shall charm trees that bear youth and health in their branches. This I swear.”

So it was that I∂unn, who brings joy to all, came to Asgard. So it was that out of deepest fears emerged the greatest blessings. So it was that Bragi became the most fortunate of the Aesir, for it is the greatest good to see in full the beast within one’s beloved, to honor well the shadow cast by their bright light.

_Thus spake Bragi, word-weaver of the Aesir._

  


**Author's Note:**

> Dear recipient! You gave me so many things to work with - a new-to-me poem! Totally new conceptions of I∂unn! I couldn't decide on which part to really dive into, so you get my attempt to work some coherency out of multiple stories. I hope the tone and various conceits work for you! Thank you so much for pushing me outside my comfort zone, and I hope your Yuletide is merry and bright!  
> For folx unfamiliar with it, here's some of the terminology I used in the story:  
> Asynjur - the goddesses of the Aesir  
> dis - "woman"  
> sei∂ - a form of Norse magic, roughly "witchcraft," often coded feminine  
> spae - a form of sei∂ involving oracular pronouncements or prophecy
> 
> For those who may be wondering, here are some sources I used:  
> Hrafnagaldur Odins - the fragmentary poem that acted as the basis for this whole fic: http://www.germanicmythology.com/works/elderedda/hrafnagaldur_odins.html  
> The Illuminated Edda - Valkauskas's take on Idunn shaped some of my perception of her as a sort of magical-plant-engineer, not just the keeper of a garden: http://www.fateofthenorns.com/WP/#159  
> There's other, more general info and other stories on Idunn in the Eddas...and a great place to start, if you're not up for parsing the Eddas (though, honestly, if you got through this, the Eddas shouldn't give you much trouble), you can *always* start with D'Aulaire's _Norse Mythology_.


End file.
